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"Champion" excerpts
© 2019 Samurai, all rights reserved. Language and violence warning. 'Prologue (unfinished, most likely being replaced with a different scene)' The Underground September 19 00:02 The challenge was over quickly, and the hopeful, aspiring contender was dead. He lay in a gruesome pool of his own blood, and Baekjool’s gory blade dissolved into thin air. The use of weapons in combat was forbidden, even when it came to challenges, but he had never been one to follow the rules, not even when they were his own. Stepping over the corpse, he looked over at his soldiers, who had watched the challenge from the edge of the ring. “Now that my throne is secure until the next half moon,” he said, “shall we take care of the human spy?” The alchemist was thrown into the ring, falling to his knees. His bloodied hair hung in his face in gory strands, and his hands were shackled behind his back. He raised his head, looking up at Baekjool with dark determination and defiance blazing in his eyes, refusing defeat. “Even if you kill me,” he said, smiling through his labored breaths, “the Champion will come. The Seraph has foreseen it.” Baekjool smiled coldly back, drawing a blade from the darkness. “Then I’ll just kill him like I’m going to kill you. Problem solved.” The alchemist laughed. “You will find that he will not fall so easily.” Baekjool drew another blade, and it gleamed in the pocket of light in which he faced the human spy. “We’ll see about that.” To the soldiers, he said, “Free him from his chains. I will not kill one who cannot fight back.” The soldiers did as he commanded, unshackling the alchemist and stepping back to their positions. “On your feet, pitiful human,” Baekjool said sharply. Before the soldiers could force him to his feet, the alchemist stood up, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He stood challengingly, defiantly, breathing heavily and back with that grim smile. “So you’re going to kill me.” “I prefer to eradicate my worst enemies myself, yes,” Baekjool replied. (cuts off here because I haven't finished it yet) Chapter One I was running again. Snow covered the ground completely, its surface turned to ice by the freezing rain. My feet crunched through the snow as I ran through the shadowy forest, the jagged edges of each icy footprint cutting into my skin. The sound of my heavy breathing filled my ears, and my lungs felt like they were on fire, but I kept running. Fear is an odd thing. It gives us a reason to keep going even when we think we can't. I had never run so fast for so long in fifteen years. In my head I heard a strangely familiar voice, and it repeated a message I had heard since that fateful day at the airport, every night in the darkness of my dreams. Run, Saorlaith, it said, using my Irish name. Run and don't stop. If you stop, it's all over . . . Your life, our lives, the world . . . everything. Everything's over . . ''. And so I continued to run through the forest, the spaced-out trees casting dark shadows upon the glowing snow. Snowbanks too had their shadows, and what lurked within those shadows . . . It could be them. A gust of arctic wind sliced through the forest, chilling my bones and making icy blood rush through my veins. I cast a terrified glance over my shoulder, quickly taking in the shadows behind me. As far as I could tell, nothing moved within that darkness . . . As far as I could tell. Eerie whispers woven into the now gentle breeze spiraled around me, chanting wordless warnings into the snowy night. A winter moon shone in the starless sky above, a thin, curved line of silvery light that for an unknown reason made my spine crawl up my back. ''Oh, you know why it scares you, a voice whispered, cold as arctic snow and as chillingly calm as the breeze that quietly rustled the bare branches on the trees. I know of the warning, Saorlaith. Didn't they always tell you . . . I heard a woman's voice, distant like the sky from which the breeze came, whispering on that same breeze just as the voice of winter had. "Beware the winter moon." The moon in the sky above glowed still, refusing to be hidden by the clouds. Echoing through the forest in the wake of a sudden gale of freezing wind came the voice of a man, his voice as faraway as that of the woman who had spoken before. "Beware the snow upon which it shines." A distant, hollow rumbling sound from beneath the snow reached my ears, and rigorous vibrations shook the ground, making the trees tremble. The icy surface of the snow cracked, a frozen chasm ripping the earth in two before me. I skidded to a stop, barely coming to a halt in time to escape falling into the chasm. Ancient whispers rose from the chasm's depths, inviting me to join them in their shadowy prison. They whispered the third line of the warning: "Beware the darkest shadow of winter." And then, glancing over my shoulder, I saw them. They melted into the icy moonlight from the shadows of the trees and the snowbanks. Barely more than shadows themselves, they moved with almost complete silence, like falling snow. I couldn't see their faces, but I knew their eyes were boring into mine, relishing the fear they saw within my sky-colored irises. They appeared to be soldiers of some kind, clad in dark blue and black armor. At the same time their armor seemed to be part of them as much as it was something they merely wore, part of the shadows that haunted the darkness of winter. Where they walked ice grew from their footsteps, creeping across the ground with a faint crackling sound. The only sound they made. The ice shone in the moonlight like the frozen surface of the snow, but to a greater degree of evil. In their gauntlet-protected hands, the soldiers held heavy double barrel rifles, the same color as the darkness from which the soldiers came. These rifles were aimed at my terrified heart as the soldiers moved closer. Together, they were not many shadows, but one shadow. Winter's darkest. "Who the hell are you?" I demanded, my voice rough and quiet as it always was. Only this time, all my fire and confidence was gone, replaced by pure terror. I hated it. I hated hearing how my voice trembled, how afraid I sounded, how unlike Ruby I sounded. The soldiers fired, icy bullets flying through the air, straight towards my heart. Then came the last line of the warning, spoken by all three givers of the warning at once: "Beware the Winter Society." The last thing I saw was the winter moon growing more and more distant as I fell into the whispering depths of the chasm in the snow. 'Chapter Two (reaaaaaally unfinished)' I hit the mat hard, landing on my back. The fall knocked the breath out of me, and for a moment I lay there, trying to get my breath back. Tarik held out his hand with an encouraging smile – or was that a conceited smirk? – and I took it. As soon as I was on my feet, I knew I was fair game again, so I attacked first. At least, I thought I did; the kick came before I could even think, arching towards my head and knocking me to the ground again. Dammit. “Pay attention,” Tarik said. “I was,” I muttered, sitting up. “I’m always paying attention.” “Sure.” ..... “You know what’s a really funny word?” “What?” “Smock.” “Oh. I was going to say Ruby’s existence.” “That’s two words.” “Oh, wow, you deserve that many?” “Hell yeah. Way more than you deserve even half a word.” “Thanks.” He took a bag of jelly beans out of his backpack. “Did you want some jelly beans? That’s too bad. These are only for my nice friends.” “I’m nice,” I said. “Don’t I get you a birthday present every year?” “ .... “Hey,” Mae-chang said, embracing Tarik. “Ready to lose to me?” “That won’t happen,” Tarik replied, hugging back. “Sorry.” Mae-chang smiled. “It will.” “No.” “Yes.” “Never.” “Yes, it will.” I listened to the friendly argument for a bit, remembering how I’d used to hate Mae-chang. A lot. An unfathomable amount. Tarik had always been mine, just mine, and I’d felt she was stealing my friend. That, and I didn’t think she deserved Tarik one bit; he deserved a goddess, and that was that. (unfinished) a little bit later, maybe Chapter Three “Can you spot for me?” I agreed, even though there wasn’t a chance in hell Tarik was going to drop that weight. And that was good, because there was no chance in hell that I could stop it from falling on him. “You think three hundred is enough?” he asked. “Reps or weight?” Either one was concerning. “Weight. Reps, though, that’s a good idea. Three hundred it is!” “Tarik,” I said as he got on the benchpress, “you’re going to hurt yourself.” “Nah,” he said, picking up the bar. “This is easy.” “Showoff,” Mae-chang muttered, continuing to do pullups. “How many is that?” Tarik asked, and I tried in vain to follow the bar with my hands as he flew through his reps. Good quality, still, but damn, he was fast. “Fifty,” Mae-chang replied, in danger of headbutting the ceiling. Definitely not half-assing those pullups. “Fifty more,” Tarik said. “And then join me on a treadmill over here,” Ashkii called from over by the windows, breathing hard. “Kai isn’t much company!” “I’m great company,” my drawing partner said, looking up from his sketchpad. “Sitting here ignoring you and not providing any encouragement. I’m wonderful.” Ashkii threw his empty water bottle at him and kept running on the treadmill. Meanwhile, Tarik was about halfway through his reps – I would guess, anyway, because he was too fast for me to count how many he had done. “Fifty is weak,” Mae-chang said, a bit late but no less sharp. “Going for one hundred.” “Don’t overdo it,” said the hypocrite as he proceeded to finish his three hundred reps. He racked the bar and sat up, wrapping his arms and yelling at Ashkii to run faster. “I can’t,” he replied. “Unlike you, I don’t break treadmills.” “He doesn’t just break treadmills,” Mae-chang grumbled. “Cough. COUGH. My car.” “I was trying to fix it,” Tarik said defensively, standing up and dragging me off to a cycling machine near the treadmills. “Don’t you love having your own mechanic? Who fixes your car for free?” “I’d rather have a mechanic who actually knows what he’s doing and doesn’t end up costing me a couple grand,” Mae-chang answered, finishing her pull-ups and going over to Kai. “I paid for it,” Tarik said. “Exactly,” Mae-chang said, wrestling away Kai’s sketchpad so she could see what he was drawing. “So do us both a favor and refrain from attempting to fix anything.” “The sink is–” “Stay away from the sink, Mr. Fix-it.” Ignoring Kai’s protests (“Give that back!” “That’s personal!” “Half of that isn’t even my best art; you’re not supposed to see the crappy drawings!”), Mae-chang looked at the current drawing, which made her smile. “Look at this.” Kai sighed and turned away, blowing a lock of hair out of his eyes. We all gathered around the sketchpad and burst into a fit of snickering, because the drawings of us were pretty accurate. Kai was laughing too, especially at mine; I had been given moose antlers and a blank expression. Why the moose antlers? I wasn’t sure. “Mine is disgraceful,” Tarik said. “I’ve got ten times the guns of that cartoon rendering.” He flexed, getting an eyeroll out of Mae-chang, but he wasn’t wrong; he put Arnold Schwarzenegger to shame. Me? Just over here with my toothpick arms. Don’t mind me. “Can I see your other drawings?” I inquired, reaching for the sketchbook. Kai nodded hesitantly, cutting his eyes at Mae-chang. “Keep it away from Little Miss Nosy over there.” Another eyeroll from Mae-chang, and I flipped through the sketchbook. There were some abstract pieces, but most of his drawings were of manga characters we had created together. We both had aspirations to become manga artists, but we weren’t quite there yet. Kai was awful with storylines, and I was great at storylines but miserable at drawing anything other than Super Saiyan-type guys. Luckily, we could collaborate – I came up with the storylines and drew the bodybuilders (if they story called for them), and Kai drew everything else. So his sketchbook was mostly pinups and a few short manga, which was awesome in my book, but there was one thing that seemed strange to me. Kai was entitled to drawing dragons, but . . . This one . . . This insignia . . . My skin was crawling, and I showed him the drawing. “What is this?” “That’s . . .” Kai hesitated. “I don’t know. Just made it up, I guess.” He bit his lip and looked at the floor, fidgeting uncomfortably. “It . . . probably looks like . . . but I wasn’t trying to . . .” Tarik looked at the page over my shoulder and stiffened. He didn’t say anything, but his demeanor completely changed, and I could sense fear crackling through the air. And that fear coursed through my own veins too, clawing its way along my spine and into my heart, into my soul, into my very being. A silver dragon . . . silver like moonlit snow . . . Kai kept looking at the floor. “I . . . I’ve been thinking about them lately. Everything they did. And . . . wondering how long we have until they come back. Until they strike again.” The chills persisting to slice through me, I knew exactly who he was talking about. Those I couldn’t name. The ones I knew I should fear, but didn’t know why, but knew why, and feared. Category:Stories Category:Content (Samurai)